


Count Ziraphale

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aziraphale isn't sure about his costume, Crowley thinks his husband is a sexy beast, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27277126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale are supposed to be at the Shadwell's for a Halloween party, but Aziraphale's lack of confidence in his costume is causing them to run behind. Crowley can't imagine that his husband looks bad, but he doesn't quite get his nervousness.After Crowley gets a good look at his angel, he makes the executive decision to spend the night in.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 136
Collections: Trick-Or-Treat!





	Count Ziraphale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScrapBramble (Nymphalis_antiopa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymphalis_antiopa/gifts).



> Written for the Tricketyboo 2020 prompt 'eyes in the dark' by Scrapbramble. This is level zero spookiness. It's just some husbands fluff.

“Come on, Aziraphale!” Crowley bellows. “You’ve been in the bedroom for over an hour! We've gotta go! Time’s a-wastin’!”

“I … I don’t know if we should," Aziraphale's timid voice answers.

"Wot?" Crowley frowns at the closed door, annoyed that his angel has kept him waiting this long if he's just going to decide not to go. He's only _mildly_ annoyed, however, since he's been sipping at a bottle of his favorite bourbon to pass the time, so it's not actually been a waste. "Why?"

“I … I may want to re-think my costume. I think … I may have made a mistake.”

Crowley shakes his head and takes a swig this time. Personally, he'd opted not to put on a costume. He's not much for fancy dress, and besides, he feels he's terrifying enough being himself. But Aziraphale hasn't been to a real costume party in ages. And he was so excited about the persona he'd come up with, too. Would be a shame for him to change his mind at this late hour.

“A mistake? How could you have made a mistake?”

“Well, that happens when one doesn’t think a decision through completely," Aziraphale says tightly. "That’s why it’s called a _mistake_.”

“But you were looking forward to being a vampire for Halloween. It’s all you’ve talked about for weeks. _Was gettin’ downright annoying, to be honest._ ” 

Crowley mutters that last part into his bottle.

“Why are we even going to a Halloween party? Halloween is more of an American holiday, isn’t it?” Aziraphale offers, trying to come up with a roundabout way out - one that Crowley could object to on Aziraphale's behalf, thus "convincing" him to stay the course and go.

“The Shadwells invited us," Crowley reminds him, playing along. "And may I remind you that _you_ were the one who said _It’s only once a year, Crowley, dear. We’ll go, make the rounds with our friends, then pop back home for a nightcap._ And I think we should stick to that plan.”

Crowley doesn't actually think they should stick to that plan. Crowley would love to stay home. He couldn't care less either way. The Shadwells have a decent liquor cabinet. That alone would be worth the drive. But he knows Aziraphale will regret not going. And since he loves Aziraphale, he'll do what makes him happy.

Aziraphale sighs. “You’re absolutely right. We did RSVP. It would be rude not to attend.”

Crowley takes a final swig out of his bottle and belches. “That’s the spirit. So … are you coming out?”

“That depends … are you going to see me?”

“Nah." Crowley puts his empty bottle down and reaches for another, seeing as, at this rate, they may never leave the flat. "I don't have to see a thing. In fact, I can just drive with my eyes shut. Done it before. Loads of times.”

"You're being overdramatic."

 _Says the pot to the kettle_ , Crowley thinks. "Am not. Being completely truthful."

"Alright, alright. I'm coming out."

Crowley sits back on his sofa and props his feet up on the coffee table. "Bout time." 

Aziraphale heaves the heaviest sigh Crowley has ever heard, leaving him to wonder how bad Aziraphale actually thinks he looks. He's seen his angel face down far more terrifying prospects than a dress-up party with heaps more cool than this. And the Shadwells - they're not exactly what one would call _high maintenance_ sort of people. Why would going to a party of theirs make Aziraphale nervous? 

"On the count of three, then?" Aziraphale says.

"Three," Crowley replies, curiosity outweighing tact.

Aziraphale sighs again, but this time he steps out.

Crowley watches the door swing slowly open, watches Aziraphale step out of the shadows and into the light.

And his jaw drops.

“Oh … _Lord_ ,” Crowley murmurs. He gets up off the couch and stalks toward him, staring at his husband dressed to the nines in a black, three-piece suit that's been tailored to his body within an inch of its life. The white shirt peeking out from underneath is satin for certain. It looks creamy and as soft as Aziraphale's hair, which Aziraphale is wearing slicked-back tonight, which highlights all the hard edges of his round face. His shirt has ruffles at the cuffs and collar because of course it does. Aziraphale wouldn't choose a period shirt if it didn't have ruffles. In his hands, he's clutching a cane with - oh, God! Is that ... a snakehead handle? Crowley takes a good, long look and swallows hard

Yes. Yes, it is a snakehead handle. 

Crowley's entire body lights on fire.

“What do you think?” Aziraphale asks self-consciously as Crowley circles him, getting the view from all angles. He even drops to the floor to get a glimpse of his shoes. They're brand new, a pair of ankle boots made of faux snakeskin, and Christ Almighty! Where in the Heaven did Aziraphale even get this outfit?

“Hello, handsome," Crowley purrs as he rises to his feet. "Where have you been all my life?"

"I beg your pardon?" Aziraphale asks with a nervous chuckle.

"Why haven’t I seen you in this outfit before?”

“I didn’t have an occasion to dress as a vampire before tonight," Aziraphale says, eyes wide when Crowley finally catches sight of them and closes in for a better look, staring unblinkingly, his own eyes growing to the size of dinner plates. "I mean, it’s not the kind of get-up I’d wear every day.”

"Your eyes," Crowley whispers. He puts a hand to Aziraphale's cheek, gazing deep into a pair of startling, crimson eyes, glowing in the dark with Aziraphale's holy aura behind them - such a striking departure from Aziraphale's baby blues that they make every hair on Crowley's body stand on end. "Aziraphale, what did you do to your eyes?"

"They're called contact lenses, dear." Aziraphale nearly rolls his eyes, but he can't bear to look away from Crowley's awe-filled gaze. "It took a fair amount of stabbing myself in the eye to get them in, but I thought it better than miracling them this way. Less to explain to the head office and all that. Do I ... do I look alright?" He clears his throat, and a little bit of discomfort along with it. Not that Crowley's staring makes him uncomfortable in a _bad_ way. Far from it. But the uncomfortable he feels right now usually goes hand in hand with them not leaving the flat - or the bedroom specifically - for several days at a time. "What I mean is ... do I look like a vampire?"

"No," Crowley says, grinning even though Aziraphale looks positively skewered. "You look like a _demon_." Crowley growls that last word and Aziraphale's brow wrinkles.

"And you ... like that?"

"I wouldn't all the time ..." Crowley buries his nose in the crook of Aziraphale's neck, needing to catch a whiff of his angelic scent, so Crowley can know for certain nothing has changed. Aziraphale may not have gone for _demon_ , but he still looks awfully convincing. "But tonight's the right night for it, in't it? And this ..." Crowley takes a step back to get another look "... I could get used to one or two nights a year. Maybe more."

Aziraphale flashes his husband an amused half-grin. "I'll take that as a compliment. So ... shall we get a move on? It is getting awfully late."

“You know ..." Crowley takes Aziraphale by the arm and turns him around, leading him back the way he came "... on second thought, I think you may be right.”

“About _what_ this time?”

“Maybe we shouldn't go to the party. It is getting late. We can hole up here, turn down the lights, open a bottle of whiskey, and have a spooky celebration of our own.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale chuckles. "What about everything you said before? We RSVP'd, remember?"

“Wot? We can un-RSVP. The Shadwells shouldn’t be throwing a party anyway. Not during a pandemic.”

“But, darling! You said …”

“You worked hard on your costume, angel. It's very authentic," Crowley presses, not letting his angel use his own words against him. "That's quite the trick for an angel. Looking demonic." Crowley snaps his fingers, turning on his stereo and fetching himself a bottle of single malt scotch in a single go. "Now, I think you deserve a treat …”


End file.
